


This Is Where I Scream From

by roxashasboxers



Category: Big Time Rush
Genre: Angst, Depression, Gen, James-centric, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-11
Updated: 2010-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-10 18:10:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/788629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxashasboxers/pseuds/roxashasboxers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a short fic about James dealing with depression. Or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is Where I Scream From

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the song "Say Anything" by Marianas Trench.

_Notice me. Help me. Save me._  
  
That's all I want. Just for them to take a moment and look at me and really  _see_  me. I want them to stop and ask me if I'm alright and I don't want them to accept my answer. I want them to yell at me, yell  _for_  me, tell me I'm worth it and  _why would you think you're not?_  
  
I want them to realize that I'm scared of the future and myself and everything else that falls under 'unknown'. I want them to sit with me and let me cry and ramble and shake and sob until the sun comes up and watch over me when I finally fall asleep. I want them to wonder about the dark circles under my eyes and  _why does he need tanning spray anyway?_  I want them to see me.  
  
To notice me. Help me. Save me.  
  
  
I want Kendall to come up with some crazy scheme that will bust through the haze that's fallen over my mind. I want Logan to explain why I feel this way with a calmness that's contagious. I want Carlos to make me laugh and do something crazy and teach me how to feel  _alive_  again.  
  
I want them to care.  
  
 _Please care._  
  
  
I want to feel hunger and know that I can fix it with food. I want to eat something and actually taste it. I want to be able to keep things down.  
  
I want to feel tired and know that sleep will come. I want to dream. I want to wake up feeling refreshed.  
  
I want to _feel._  
  
Something. Anything.  _Loved._  
  
I want to have answers. I want to know what questions to ask. I want to know that this isn't permanent.   
  
I want to wake up and smile because I can always count on the sun to rise. I want to clear the smog from the air,  _from my mind_ , so I can tell if it really has.  
  
I want to smile. I want to laugh. I want to have my heart swell with joy and I want my eyes to shine again.  
  
I want them to ask where that shine went. I want to have an answer for them.  
  
They don't. I don't.  
  
  
Sometimes, I want to scream. At them, at the world, at no one at all, but just because I can. I want to stand up on the rooftop and scream until my throat hurts and my lungs sting and I can't hear the  _thump thump shatter_  of my heart. I want somebody to stop and listen and  _know_. I want somebody to get it and look at me and let me know that sometimes they want to scream too.  
  
I want...  _somebody_.  
  
  
There was this girl back in Minnesota. Victoria Grey. Sweetest person I've ever met, always knew what to say. I wonder if she would notice I was fading, if she could fix it, if she could help like she always did when something went wrong. Would she notice?   
  
And Adrian Ramone, the kid who sat next to me in Chemistry and always drew sharks on his papers. Would he notice?  
  
What about Kyle Fife? Or Gregory Plant? Or Alicia Anderson? What about all the kids I've known since grade school, since pre-K? Would they notice?  
  
What about the guys on the hockey team? Coach Bryan? Nurse Linda?  
  
Mr. Wyatt who lived three houses down and taught me how to skate?  
  
Would _any_ of these people notice?  
  
I want to say they would.   
  
But there are a lot of things I want and I'm not getting any of them.  
  
  
Last night, I prayed. I prayed to anyone and everyone who would listen. I prayed for help and for guidance and for an angel to save me. I prayed for my friends,  _for someone, anyone_ , to see me.  
  
I prayed for them to notice me. Help me. Save me.  
  
 _Please!_  
  
No one answered. No one ever does.  
  
  
Do they hear me?  
  
Do they listen when I pray or scream or retch? Can they hear it; the  _thump thump shatter_?  
  
Have they noticed the hitch in my breathing or the lack of  _anything_  in my voice? Do I sound hollow to them? Do I sound empty when I sing?  
  
Do they realize how fucking far away I am? Do they regret letting it get this far? Do _I_  regret letting it get this far?  
  
 _Sometimes..._    
  
  
Sometimes I hold my breath. I wonder how much it will take for my body to stop fighting. It seems like I can go longer every day. Pretty soon, I think the spots will win.  
  
I know that should bother me, but it doesn't.  
  
  
The air seems thicker these days. It hurts to breathe. I wonder if I could suffocate from standing out here. I wouldn't have to hold my breath so I guess it wouldn't be- well, you know...  
  
 _Suicide._  
  
It's funny, but I think that's the first time I've ever acknowledged it for what it is, this urge to end everything. Does that make it real?   
  
 _Noun. The intentional taking of one's own life._  
  
Nothing feels real anymore.  
  
 _Suicide. S. U. I. C. I. D. E. Suicide._  
  
Nothing  _feels_  anymore.  
  
 _Let's try it backwards. Edicius. Sounds Greek..._ _To me._  
  
  
I'm smarter than the guys give me credit for, smarter than anyone thinks. I know that. Sometimes, I think I may be smarter than Logan.   
  
Kendall used to be. The smart one, I mean. He was the first of our group to learn how to read. I remember when we would be playing a board game and there would be a discrepancy regarding the rules, Kendall would read them for us. That's how he became the leader.  
  
I wonder if the other guys remember that.  
  
I wonder if they remember a lot of things, actually.  
  
Like the time my dad yelled at me when they were over and they all went home because they didn't like him. We were little then, but I wonder if they realized that I already was home, that I didn't get to leave.  
  
I never invited them over again after that. My house wasn't much fun anyway.  
  
  
Tonight, I'm staring up at the stars. I can barely see them through all the lights from the city and I wonder what's so great about them anyway. The lights, I mean.   
  
Why not just give in to the darkness?  
  
I wonder if it hurts to die. I mean, sure some ways have to, but I'm not talking about the injuries leading to the death. I'm talking about the death _itself_. Does it hurt to have your heart stop beating?  
  
Does it hurt worse than this?  
  
Is that even possible?  
  
  
Sometimes... I wish I was Carlos. I wish I could just think about kittens and everything that's wrong with the world would disappear and I could smile and laugh and mean it. I wish I could get the same joy he does from a corndog. I wish I could take a risk for the thrill, with no concern for the result. I wish I could be invincible.  
  
 _If I was, would I be able to hurt myself?_  
  
Sometimes... I wish I was Logan. I wish I could think everything through logically and know that the facts never lie. I wish I could rely on math and science to solve all of my problems. I wish I could spot a bad situation in advance. I wish I could switch tracks before my train derails.  
  
 _I wonder if they would be able to look away from the wreckage._  
  
Sometimes... I wish I was Kendall. I wish I could stand up and speak from the heart and give people ( _myself_ ) hope. I wish I could be brave and fearless and sure. I wish I could go to the rink and let everything go, that the silence wouldn't make all my thoughts echo back to me. I wish I could give my all and let the chips fall where they may and be satisfied because I tried.  
  
 _What if I didn't?_  
  
Sometimes... I wish I could be perfect.  
  
I think that's the one dream my parents and I share.  
  
  
"Hey James! We're going down to the pool. Wanna come?" Logan asks, leaning into my and Carlos' room.   
  
I shake my head, the lie slipping off my tongue with more ease than I'd like, "No way, dude. I just did my hair."  
  
Logan raises an eyebrow but nods, "O...kay then. We'll see you later, I guess."  
  
I watch him leave silently, wanting him to stop and turn around and ask me what's been up with me. He doesn't and that hurts more today than it usually does.  
  
I want to tell them everything. I want them to know what it's like, to understand that I'm angry and sad and that everyday I hear something calling me to join the eternal sleep of the dead. That I'm scared that I'll always feel this way, that I'm even more scared that 'always' will keep shrinking and one of these days I'll answer the call and leave them all wondering.  
  
That the scariest part is not knowing if they will.


End file.
